


Heal What Has Been Hurt

by just_another_outcast



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Bad Parent Martin Whitly, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Gil Arroyo Whump, Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Martin Whitly Being an Asshole, Protective JT Tarmel, Sharing a Bed, Stabbing, author treats Martin like the literal garbage bag he is, mild Malcolm whump, the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals maybe ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/pseuds/just_another_outcast
Summary: The Surgeon escapes custody and tries to kidnap Malcolm.  Gil intervenes, and gets stabbed for his efforts.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel
Comments: 24
Kudos: 132





	Heal What Has Been Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by that one scene in the Disney movie Tangled. If you've seen the movie, then you'll know exactly what scene I'm talking about. The title is taken from the healing incantation in Tangled as well. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!!!

There weren't very many times in his life when Malcolm had been speechless. For someone who was often hated for his sarcastic remarks and inability to properly socialize with others due to his bizarre comments, not having anything to say just didn't happen. His words were his weapons, and he had used them many a time to defuse explosive situations with a plethora of serial killers and other unsavory characters. But for the first time in longer than Malcolm cared to remember, he didn't have any words.

"Mr. Bright? Are you still there?" Mr. David said over the phone.

"Yes, yes, sorry," Malcolm finally said. He switched the phone from his right hand to his left - his right was shaking uncontrollably, making it difficult to even hold the phone. "Thank you for telling me," he said. Mr. David may have said something else, but Malcolm could barely hear anything over the sound of his heart beating out of his chest.

His father had escaped. Mr. David hadn't told him how, and Malcolm hadn't asked. He didn't have the time to think about how. The moment he heard those words, 'your father has escaped custody, he's in the wind', Malcolm's world stopped. His vision faded so badly that he couldn't even see what was in front of him.

Vaguely, Malcolm could feel the phone slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. Slowly, Malcolm fell to the floor with it, collapsing against the kitchen counter, sliding down its side until he was sitting on the floor, trying not to hyperventilate. Breathe, breathe, he needed to breathe, just breathe. Everything was going to be okay. That had been the daily affirmation that he had been reading while making his morning coffee when he got the call, 'everything will turn out fine'. This time, Malcolm couldn't see how.

Ainsley. His mother. He had to make sure they were okay, had to get them out of town, as far away as possible from where his father might be able to find them. Panicked, Malcolm searched along the floor next to him for his phone, only to discover that it was already ringing - and had been, if the missed call symbol was anything to go by. It was Gil. Malcolm answered immediately.

"Gil?"

"Oh, thank God, kid, you're okay," he breathed out like a sigh of relief. "Your mom and Ainsley are already on their way to the Hamptoms, with a police escort, it was non-negotiable, and for once, they didn't argue. I'm on my way to come get you, and we're gonna stay at a safe house, unless you'd rather go to the Hamptoms with your mother and sister."

"They're okay?" Malcolm confirmed, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. Of course Gil was already on top of this. Gil was his protector, his whole family's protector, really.

"Yes, they're perfectly fine," Gil replied. "I told them not to call you, to let you call them once I've got you. So get a bag together, 'cause I'll be there in twenty minutes, okay kid?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks, I'll see you in twenty minutes then. I'll leave the interior door unlocked," Malcolm said, then hung up. If it weren't for the situation, Malcolm would've laughed at how easily he acquiesced to Gil's request, and a request to retreat at that. Retreat wasn't a word that Malcolm liked to be in his vocabulary.

Malcolm snapped out of his thoughts and got to his feet, a little steadier now that he knew his family was safe, and that Gil was on his way over. The amount of safety that even just knowing Gil was coming brought him was, frankly, a little embarrassing, but there wasn't anything that Malcolm planned to do about it.

As quickly as he could, Malcolm got a duffle bag and started throwing clothes and other necessities into it, and not just for him. He didn't know how long he was going to be gone, so Sunshine had to come too. Gil would just have to be okay with it - and in the back of his mind, Malcolm knew that anything that brought him happiness, Gil was always okay with. He was just reaching for her cage, to take it off the hook and set it on the floor next to his packed bag, when he heard the door open behind him.

Malcolm began to turn to face him. "Gil, thank you so much-"

He stopped, his speechlessness returning, his heartbeat ratcheting up and once again drowning out nearly everything, his hand shaking beyond measure.

"My boy, how good to see you," Dr. Whitly said, his trademark crazed grin on his face. He took a step towards his son and Malcolm reflexively took a step back, mouth opening and closing. Malcolm needed to say something, he was trying to say something, to tell him to not move, to ask how and why, to tell him Gil was coming and he'd never get away- but none of it was coming, not a single word. "I know, it's so odd seeing someone outside of their normal environment. It's like seeing a teacher outside of school, so I assure you, this reaction is completely normal." Malcolm remained silent, his breathing picking up exponentially as he began to panic. How did his father even know where he lived? How did he get through the door on the ground level? Malcolm had left his interior door unlocked, but not the ground one.

"What are you doing here?" he finally managed to ask, taking another stumbling step back, closer towards all of his antique weapons. Should he grab one? Did he need to have something to defend himself? His dad would never hurt him, right? Malcolm didn't know whether or not to listen to the little voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that the man had planned on killing him once. Just because he hadn't gone through with it that time didn't mean he wouldn't this time. Maybe Malcolm should grab a weapon.

"To see you, my boy, why else?" Dr. Whitly asked in reply. His hands were in his pockets, out of Malcolm's sight. Malcolm hadn't not been able to see his father's hands whenever he was interacting with him since before the man's arrest. It was far more unsettling than Malcolm would admit, as was the fact that his father was wearing normal, every day clothes, making him look like a suburban dad instead of a serial killer. "We're going to go somewhere special, just you and me."

"No," Malcolm immediately replied. "I'm not going anywhere with you. They're gonna find you, and you'll be headed straight back to Claremont, if not Rikers." He was just a few paces away from his weapons now. He could defend himself decently well with any of the swords or axes he had. Malcolm hated to damage any of them, but he could afford to.

"Well, Malcolm, you are," he said, that sickly smile still stuck on his face as he moved closer to Malcolm, much in the way a predator closed in on its prey - Malcolm didn't care to think on the accuracy of that analogy any more than that. "We are going to have so much fun together. There's so much I still have to teach you."

Malcolm slid the glass to the side and grabbed the first dagger he could wrap his fingers around. The blade was dull, but even a dull blade could do serious damage. Malcolm just hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

"Stay back," he said, holding the blade out in front of him. The knife shook in his grasp, despite his white knuckled grip. "Stay away from me."

"Oh, my dear boy," Dr. Whitly said with a chuckle. "You actually think you could harm me, your own dad? I know you better than that, son."

"You're not my dad!" Malcolm shouted. "You haven't been my dad in twenty years. You weren't there when I finished school, when I graduated. You weren't there to give me advice on girls, to take care of me when I was sick, to help me with my homework, to take me to the Yankees game. You weren't the one who did all that, because you murdered twenty-three innocent people, because you're a monster."

Maybe that hadn't quite been the right thing to say, but it wasn't exactly every day that his serial killer father escaped custody and surprised him in his own home, so Malcolm was willing to cut himself a break. The problem was that this time, what he said mattered a little bit more, and Malcolm could tell that his words had set his father off before the man even said anything. The way that his face twisted up in rage and the knife he produced from his pocket were dead giveaways. Malcolm held out his own dagger in front of him more, reminding his father that he had it, and theoretically, wasn't afraid to use it.

"And who do you think is your dad, then?" Dr. Whitly asked him, his voice still deadly calm despite the rage displayed on his face. "Lieutenant Arroyo? You think he's your dad?" He grew louder with every word. "I am your father! You are my son!" he shouted. "You belong to me, not him. You're coming with me and I am going to kill that son of a bitch."

He advanced on Malcolm quickly, faster than Malcolm would've thought the man would be able to, and slashed his knife across Malcolm's outstretched arm, causing him to drop the dagger he held with a gasp of pain. The Surgeon was on him in that instant, delivering a quick blow to his temple that knocked Malcolm to the ground. He grabbed for the dagger again, and was able to get it in his grasp, but The Surgeon was on him, on his arm, keeping him from moving. Malcolm didn't know whether to yell for him to stop, to cry out for help, or what. Just because he'd had nightmares of things like this happening for many years didn't mean that he knew what he was actually supposed to do if it really happened.

"You're coming with me, my dear boy, whether you like it or not," he said, his face mere inches from Malcolm's. There was a flash of pain in his head, then, nothing.

...

The first thing Malcolm became aware of was the pounding in his head, like someone was holding a jackhammer to his temple and going to town on it. He felt himself groan in pain, and forced himself to open his eyes. He was still in his loft, lying right where his father had knocked him out. Malcolm tried to sit up, but quickly found that he didn't have the leverage he needed to do so. His hands were tied behind his back, with thick, coarse rope that cut into his skin as he struggled against them. He could feel the wetness from the blood that trickled down from the slash on his arm.

"My boy! You're awake!" Dr. Whitly cheerfully exclaimed as he came into Malcolm's field of view. "I'm sorry about earlier, but you were being very difficult, and I didn't exactly have any other choice," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing that he attacked his own son and knocked him out. "I know it was a very crude method, one I hate to use, but my options are still rather limited as of right now. But don't worry. We'll have everything we need, once we get where we're going," he said, only seeming upset that he had been forced to use brute strength instead of some precise method. "I'm honestly surprised you resisted at all, thinking you would be capable of harming your own father." He chuckled. "Now, of course I'm not forgetting the time you stabbed me in the heart, but those were very different circumstances. Really, you did that for your mother, not for yourself. But this time, you're the only one here. You wouldn't hurt your dear ol' dad just for yourself, I know you better than that. I'm not a fool enough to think I could best you in a physical fight if you were actually trying," he said with a light chuckle. "You're in much better physical shape than I am, my boy. But you've studied plenty of psychology. I'll allow you to draw your own conclusions," he finished with a knowing grin, shaking his head.

Malcolm wanted to reply, to find some way to tell Dr. Whitly how wrong he was, but he couldn't. The duct tape over his mouth wouldn't allow that. Instead, he started trying to pull his knees close enough to his chest to be able to pull his bound hands around to the front.

"Oh, none of that," Dr. Whitly said as if he were chastising a small child who was throwing a mild fit, not trying to stop his son, whom he was trying to kidnap, from getting away. He grabbed Malcolm's bare ankles - he hadn't bothered to change from his plaid flannel pants and tee shirt after getting the call - and began to drag him into the kitchen. Malcolm tried to fight him, but without any way to anchor himself, he couldn't. He was finally able to catch one of the barstools with his bound hands, causing it to screech against the hardwood floor. Dr. Whitly stopped in his tracks, his face twisting in annoyance. "This is happening, whether you like it or not, so you better-"

"Malcolm!"

It was Gil. He was downstairs. Malcolm began screaming through the duct tape, hoping that Gil would hear him and know he was walking into a hostage situation. His screams were cut off by a kick to the gut that left him breathless for a moment. When he finally got air back in his lungs, Malcolm saw his father by the door, holding the same dagger that Malcolm had held earlier. The door would open and Gil wouldn't see The Surgeon standing there and he would be killed and Malcolm would be forced to watch and-

"Malcolm!" Gil shouted out again, and he could hear the panic in his voice. The door opened, Gil stepped through with his gun already drawn, and saw Malcolm on the floor. His eyes widened in shock, but he didn't have time to even start moving towards him. Malcolm was screaming through the duct tape, but The Surgeon was right there, behind Gil, and shoved the dagger into his side.

"He is my son," The Surgeon growled into Gil's ear as he twisted the knife further, just loud enough for Malcolm to hear over Gil's gasps and his own screams. "He is mine," he repeated. The Surgeon twisted the knife one more time before finally pulling it out and shoving Gil to the ground.

Malcolm worked frantically to get his hands in front of him, and finally succeeded while The Surgeon stared down in morbid fascination at his handiwork, Gil's blood quickly pooling around him.

"Alright, my boy, it's time for us to go now," he continued, his tone once again that of a doting father. "It'll take him a few minutes to die in agony, and it's best to let him suffer alone." He started towards Malcolm, his gaze annoyed as he realized that Malcolm had succeeded in getting his hands in front of him. He grabbed his son's bound wrists right as Malcolm managed to remove the duct tape.

"No! Please, Gil!" he shouted as Dr. Whitly dragged him to his feet. Malcolm struggled against him, fighting tooth and nail to get away, to get to Gil. He took another blow to the head, this time with the hilt of the dagger, stunning him. He could feel the blood beginning the trickle down the side of his face.

"Stop fighting this, Malcolm Whitly," the man seethed, the use of Malcolm's real name making him shudder. "This is happening. You are coming with me, and there is nothing you can do about it, so stop fighting me."

"No, I'm not ever going to stop fighting you, I'm never going to be the son you want me to be, and I'm never going to stop trying to get away," Malcolm said, letting all of his emotion bleed out through his voice and his eyes, knowing that Dr. Whitly would be able to see that he was telling the truth. He was on his knees in front of him, his bound wrists held up in Dr. Whitly's grasp. "But, if you help me save Gil, I'll stop. I'll go with you, anywhere you want to go, I won't try to escape, it'll be just you and me, just like you want." Dr. Whitly had been slowing his attempts to pull Malcolm along, and now stopped, staring at his son in contemplation. "Just father and son," Malcolm added, his voice breaking and eyes welling up with tears. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want anything to do with his father. The idea of going with him to never be seen again by his true family terrified him. But the idea of Gil bleeding out on his loft floor terrified him even more. "You just have to help me save him."

"Malcolm," Gil murmured. "No, you can't-"

"Please, Dad," Malcolm begged, refusing to look at Gil until Dr. Whitly agreed. He could see the way his eyes subtly lit up at Malcolm calling him 'dad'. As much as Malcolm hated to do it, he would call him nothing but 'dad' until the end of time if it meant he got to save Gil's life.

"You'll do everything I say?" his father asked him, giving him that incredulous look that Malcolm recognized from before the man was arrested. Malcolm knew exactly what he meant by that. The Surgeon was going to force him to kill people.

"Malcolm, no-"

"Yes," Malcolm replied, interrupting Gil as tears welled up in his eyes, his voice breaking. "If you help me save him, I'll do anything you ask." Finally, Malcolm hung his head, not wanting his father to see his tears as he resigned himself to his fate: a life of being the monster he swore he would never become.

"You can't-"

"Oh hush, lieutenant, I'm about to save your life," Dr. Whitly said, clearly annoyed by the prospect. He finally let go of Malcolm's wrists. "Now go on, my boy. Go get some gauze, towels, and duct tape. Chop chop." He turned on his heel and went to kneel by Gil, his jeans immediately becoming soaked in blood.

Malcolm turned his attention away and ran for the bathroom. He grabbed the first aid kit in his bound hands and ran it back to Dr. Whitly before searching his desk drawers for the duct tape. He could hear Gil groaning in pain, spurring him on to rifle through the drawers faster. Finally, he found it, and quickly rushed it back to Gil.

"Finally," Dr. Whitly muttered. "Took you long enough, can't you see the man is bleeding out?" he chastised. Malcolm couldn't find the energy to be annoyed. Everything he had was focused on Gil.

"Gil, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Malcolm said through his tears, taking Gil's head in his lap. He made sure to keep eye contact with Gil as Dr. Whitly began to pack the wound with gauze. Gil clenched his teeth as he groaned in pain, his hands weakly reaching out to brush against Dr. Whitly's. Malcolm took a light hold of them. "Gil, stop, he's gonna save you, you're gonna be okay."

"No," Gil groaned. "If I live, you'll suffer. You know what he'll make you do." He let out a much louder cry of pain, only matched by Malcolm's sobs.

"It's okay, you're all that matters," Malcolm replied, not bothering to stop Gil as he reached up and wiped away some of his tears. "I'll be okay."

"Son, stop crying, and help me wrap this with duct tape," Dr. Whitly said, only looking at Malcolm with annoyance. Still, Malcolm tried to stop crying and did as his father asked. He kept pressure on the wound with the towels, glad to see that they weren't soaking as quickly with blood as he had expected. It seemed Dr. Whitly truly had done the best job he could with packing the wound. As he held the pressure, Dr. Whitly began wrapping duct tape around the towels, keeping them tight against Gil. It would hurt like a bitch to take off, but if it saved Gil's life, then it was worth it. "Happy now?" Dr. Whitly asked him. Malcolm knew better than to respond. "Time to go, son. I held up my end of the deal, he'll live long enough to get help. Now it's your turn." He grabbed Malcolm's bound wrists and began to drag him away from Gil, but Malcolm had one last request to beg for.

"Wait, please, let me say goodbye," Malcolm asked, looking up his father with pleading eyes. "I'm never gonna see him again, please let me say goodbye. Please," he begged.

After a moment, Dr. Whitly rolled his eyes, but released Malcolm's wrists from his grasp and motioned towards Gil with a heavy sigh. Malcolm quickly fell to his knees beside Gil and took one of his hands in his own. Gil was barely conscious.

"I'm so sorry," Malcolm repeated, trying not to let himself dissolve into sobs. There would surely be plenty of time for that later - throughout the rest of his life. "You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine."

"Malcolm, you can't," Gil muttered with tears in his own eyes, his other hand reaching up to brush Malcolm's face, coming to rest at the back of his neck, thumb in front of Malcolm's ear, just like he always did. Malcolm was amazed that Gil even had the strength to do that, but he wasn't about to push his hand away. This was a comfort that Malcolm was never going to feel again. At the realization, Malcolm broke down into sobs on Gil's chest.

"Oh, hurry it up," Dr. Whitly complained. "I will still drag you out of here." Malcolm shot back up. He couldn't leave yet.

"Gil, please tell everyone I love them, that I'm so sorry, for everything, for what I have to do. Please tell Dani what she needs to know, and take care of Sunshine. Thank you for everything, thank you for being my dad. I love you, Gil, I love you so much-"

"That's enough," Dr. Whitly interrupted, grabbing Malcolm by the back of his tee shirt and hauling him to his feet. "We're going."

"Malcolm," Gil muttered, his hand still raised towards them as Dr. Whitly dragged Malcolm to the door. Turning away from Gil and letting his father push him out into the entryway was the hardest thing Malcolm had ever done. He didn't bother to stop his tears of grief from flowing. He was never going to see Gil ever again. He wasn't even ever going to see Sunshine again. His mother and sister and the team, he'd seen all of them for the last times without even knowing it. He never got to tell JT that he was the brother Malcolm never had, to tell Dani how he really felt about her, or Edrisa how much he truly appreciated her.

"Chin up, my boy," Dr. Whitly said with a smile on his face as they made their way down their stairs. "You used to love spending time with me as a boy. We're going to have just as much fun now."

Somehow, with their hands currently stained with blood, Malcolm's still roughly tied together with coarse rope, his bare feet scratching against the stairs, and everyone and everything Malcolm loved soon to be in the rearview mirror, Malcolm just couldn't get himself to believe his father's words.

Luckily, fate had a different plan in mind, and Malcolm didn't have to.

"NYPD! Hands where we can see them!" was shouted the moment he and his father rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes, although still blurry with tears, could make out Dani standing right inside the door, which had been crudely broken into - likely how Dr. Whitly had managed to get inside, and thus why Gil had come up the stairs with his gun drawn, and why Dani and JT were there now, since Gil would've immediately called for backup.

"Damnit," Dr. Whitly muttered. Malcolm felt his father pull him roughly against his chest, and saw the flash of the dagger as it was held to his throat. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn't. Malcolm would rather die right there then have to go with his father. "Stay right there, detective," he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm could see JT outside the door, calling for additional units, his weapon drawn as well.

"Put it down, and let him go," Dani ordered. "We all know you're not going to kill your son like this."

The distinction of 'like this' was very important. Maybe his father really would kill him, but Dani was right that he wouldn't do it like this, slitting his throat in a stairwell when cornered by police.

For once, Dr. Whitly was silent, seemingly knowing that he'd been had. Dani was also right when she said that everyone knew he wouldn't kill Malcolm, Dr. Whitly included.

"Just put it down," Dani repeated. "It's over."

This had to end. They couldn't stand there at a stalemate forever. Making up his mind, Malcolm quickly reached up with his bound hands and grabbed the pressure point on his father's hand between the thumb and forefinger, squeezing it as hard as he could. Dr. Whitly dropped the knife with a sudden gasp, leaving Malcolm an opening to dart to the side, away from his father and out of Dani's way. She immediately rushed the man, kicking the fallen dagger away and pushing Dr. Whitly up against the wall. JT was there in an instant, coming to stand in front of Malcolm, one arm wrapped protectively around him.

"This is the second time you've thrown me to the wolves, my boy," he said, in a tone that Malcolm recognized all too well - enraged, but trying desperately to control his emotions. "And on top of that, you've broken your promise. You said you wouldn't try to escape if I saved the lieutenant."

"That's enough, Dr. Whitly," Dani said, snapping the handcuffs on him, but he wouldn't be silenced so easily.

"He's going to die. He will suffer, I will make sure of it," he seethed, trying to get in Malcolm's face as Dani marched him to the door and outside.

"No," JT interjected, stepping forward and blocking his view of Malcolm. "Don't you even look at him." If Dr. Whitly replied, Malcolm didn't hear it. JT spun back around a moment later, his large hands coming to rest gently on Malcolm's shoulders for a moment, holding him at arm's length as he looking him over, in the same way that Gil always did. "Are you okay?" he asked him, and for the first time, JT didn't hide any emotion in his eyes. Malcolm could tell that JT was genuinely worried - any other time, he would've been touched.

"You have to get Gil, he's upstairs, he needs a bus, my father said he bought him enough time for help but he needs help now he's been stabbed and lost a lot of blood and-"

"Hey, hey, hey," JT interrupted. "I already called a bus, it's on its way." He reached to his belt and withdrew a knife. JT made quick work of the ropes that been so roughly tied around his wrists, drawing a little blood where Malcolm had struggled. He pulled Malcolm a little bit closer. "I'll go get him, you stay here-"

"I'm already on it," Dani interjected, dashing past the two of them and rushing up the stairs. "Surgeon's contained!" she shouted back at them.

"She's got him, and I've got you," JT said, his voice more gentle and calming than Malcolm had ever heard it. "Let's go wait for the bus outside, okay?"

"But Gil, I need to see that he's okay," Malcolm said, beginning to fight against JT to get back upstairs, back to Gil. But JT was larger and stronger, and Malcolm was exhausted from the morning's events. JT was able to easily hold him back. Malcolm couldn't help but let himself relax into JT's arms and allow himself to believe the man's words. He didn't have the energy, much less the adrenaline, to keep going.

"Gil will be fine, Dani is with him," JT said. "The EMTs are almost here, and they're gonna take care of him. Let me take care of you in the meantime." JT wrapped an arm around Malcolm's trembling shoulders and gently led him out to the sidewalk, away from the parked cars. He even made sure that Malcolm was blocked from the sightline of anyone who could have been sitting in the car with the beat cop standing guard next to it. Malcolm was too exhausted from the events of the past hour to do anything about the way he was being coddled - his exhausted mind even craved it, being cared for, being loved. "Dude, you don't even have any socks on," JT added, successfully bringing a small smile out of Malcolm.

"Yeah, I, uh- I got the call about his escape before I even got dressed this morning, and even that call, I only got, like, forty-five minutes ago," Malcolm replied with a shrug.

"It's not even 9am. You've had a busy morning," JT said.

Malcolm perked up at the sound of sirens coming around the corner. The ambulance was there. They were going to take care of Gil, everything was going to be fine. He took a glance back at the building, and saw Gil stepping out the door, heavily supported by Dani, but alive and technically walking on his own two feet. Malcolm lurched away from JT, towards Gil, but JT quickly steadied him once again. Gil's unfocused gaze fell on Malcolm, but Dani was a bit more prepared when the man lurched toward Malcolm than JT had been.

"Hold on, bro," JT muttered to him, but Malcolm wasn't paying much attention.

"Gil," he said, moving faster towards the man. This time, JT stayed right next to him, and brought him over to the man he so desperately needed to be right beside. The ambulance reached them at the same moment that Malcolm finally got to Gil.

"Oh, kid, thank God you're okay," Gil said, before nearly collapsing in Dani's arms. She was able to hold him up just long enough for the EMTs to take him from her.

"Gil," Malcolm repeated, pushing through the EMTs to the stretcher that Gil was laying on, barely conscious. He grabbed onto Gil's hand and held it tight as his eyes welled up with tears again. This was all his fault.

"I'm okay, kid," Gil muttered, barely audible through his oxygen mask.

"Sir, you have to move," one of the EMTs said, but Malcolm would not be moved so easily, not now that he was finally with Gil again.

"No, I need to make sure he's okay," he protested, gripping Gil's hand even tighter.

"Let them do their jobs," JT gently said, taking a light hold of Malcolm's shoulders and trying to get him to move.

"Stay with JT," Gil muttered before passing out, his hand going limp in Malcolm's.

"Gil!"

"We have to go," the EMT said, pushing Malcolm away and into JT. Malcolm was wrapped in JT's arms before he could move.

"It's okay," JT assured him. "We'll follow them. You have to get checked out anyway." His eyes still trained on the ambulance, Malcolm allowed JT to lead him to his car. He was barely paying attention when JT asked Dani, "you've got Dr. Crazy?" That stole his attention only enough to see Dani give JT a nod, and shoot Malcolm a grim smile.

"No, you shouldn't have to," Malcolm interjected. He didn't want Dani to be anywhere near his father. She didn't deserve that. "It shouldn't have to be you."

"Well it shouldn't have to be you, either," Dani fired back, her eyes filled with more concern than Malcolm had seen in a long time. "I've got it. I'll meet you two at the hospital as soon as I can." She turned around and headed back to her own car, relieving the patrol officer from his post.

"Come on, let's go," JT said, opening up the door and motioning for Malcolm to get in the car. "Let's get you checked out, and then we can see Gil."

At the mention of Gil, Malcolm quickly got in the car and closed the door behind him. He didn't need to get checked out, he was fine, but he did need to go to the hospital. That's where Gil was, so that was where he needed to be.

Malcolm was silent the whole drive, content to let his thoughts race. What if Gil didn't make it? What if what he and Dr. Whitly had done to save him wasn't enough? What if Dr. Whitly had purposely done something that wouldn't save him? What if the man somehow escaped again and killed Gil, or sent someone to kill him? What if this was all an elaborate hallucination and Malcolm was already out in the middle of nowhere with his father, never to see his friends ever again?

He took a shaky breath in and out, his hand trembling even more. JT must have noticed.

"It's gonna be okay, bro," he said. "Gil is gonna be just fine, I promise."

"How can you promise that?" Malcolm asked, exasperated. He turned to JT so quickly that his head spun, but he forced himself to ignore it. "You don't know that. Gil got stabbed, and then my father twisted the knife again and again. I don't know if he really did his best to save him or if he was just pretending to in order to get me to cooperate. Gil could die," he said. Malcolm went to wipe at his eyes with one hand, stopping when he noticed that it was still covered in Gil's blood.

"Because I know Gil," JT answered with such confidence that it almost made Malcolm believe him that Gil really was going to be okay. JT turned the car into the hospital parking lot, put it in park, then turned to face Malcolm fully. "And I know that he would never leave you, not like this. The way he is with you..." he trailed off for a moment, sighing and shaking his head. "He treats you like you're his own son, he would never leave you like this. He needs to make sure you're okay, and that little stint in front of your building? That wasn't good enough, okay? So Gil is gonna be just fine," JT affirmed, giving a firm nod before turning and getting out of the car. Malcolm quickly got out and followed him into the hospital. JT walked right to the front desk, barely waiting for the woman there to acknowledge him before he began to speak with her. "I'm Detective Tarmel with the NYPD, this is Bright, also with the NYPD." That was only sort of true, but JT flashed his badge at the woman, and she seemed satisfied with his enough that she didn't ask to see Malcolm's, although she did give him a strange once over, likely taking in his odd attire - still clothed only in flannel pants and tee shirt, no socks or shoes, slightly bloodied. "Our lieutenant was stabbed in an altercation this morning and brought in via ambulance, and Bright was injured as well. We're gonna need a doctor to see him," he pointed at Malcolm, "and to be taken to our lieutenant, immediately."

The woman nodded, and began tapping away on her computer. "Lieutenant Arroyo is still in surgery, but I will make sure that you are notified as soon as he's out. However, his charts and prognosis seem hopeful. He was brought in with his wound already field dressed perfectly, so the doctors don't appear to be too concerned."

Malcolm almost fainted at the good news. His knees buckled, but he was able to catch himself on JT's shoulder and make it look natural enough to everyone but JT, who looked at him with concern.

"That's amazing, thank you," Malcolm said. But now that his worry over Gil was slightly abated, the pain hit him full force. His began to pound in earnest, his wrists made him aware that there were serious abrasions that needed tending to, and the slash on his arm began to sting once again.

The woman smiled at him, then paged a doctor to come see him. Malcolm couldn't bring himself to deny the fact that he needed medical attention any longer.

"I'll be right here, okay?" JT assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he sat down. "And I'll have Dani swing by your place to pick up some real clothes for you on her way here," he added as Malcolm walked away with the doctor who'd come out to collect him.

An hour later, Malcolm's head wound was cleaned and bandaged with butterfly tape, his wrists were wrapped in gauze, including the slash on his forearm, and he'd been through a CT scan. The doctor had even procured for him a pair of standard hospital socks. After assuring the doctor that he was fine and could walk back to JT on his own just fine, Malcolm was finally on his way back to him, and hopefully, some even better news about Gil. When he got there, Dani was there too, holding the promised bag of clothing.

"It's not your usual suit, but I figured a clean shirt and joggers would go a long way," she said with a smile. "There's also real socks, your fancy sneakers, and a toothbrush."

"You're amazing," Malcolm replied, meaning that much more than Dani probably knew. "Thank you." He took the bag from her, but sat down across from her and JT. "Any news?" he asked.

"Nothin' yet, bud," JT responded with a shake of his head. "But it hasn't been that long. It'll be okay."

Malcolm nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. "How about you?" he asked Dani. "Are you okay?"

"Uhm, yeah, why?" she asked, shifting in her chair as she gave him an incredulous look. Malcolm ducked his head. Maybe he was the only one who truly had a hard time being around his father, and was just projecting by assuming that everyone felt that same mental anguish around the man that he did.

"My father, I know how he can be, sometimes, so, I just wanted to make sure-"

"Bright, I'm fine," she interrupted, but she was smiling softly, so Malcolm believed her. "He was quiet the whole way back to the precinct, and once I dropped him off, he became someone else's problem." Malcolm nodded and let out a deep breath, relieved. "What about you? Are you okay?" she asked.

"Aren't I always?" he immediately responded. Dani and JT just glared at him. Malcolm sighed. "They did a CT scan, but it's probably fine, and I didn't even need stitches," he said, gesturing towards his head wound and his wrists. "I'm fine."

Dani and JT looked between each other, clearly both wanting to ask something else, but neither one of them did. Malcolm was okay with that. He didn't want to talk about it, anyway, so it was best that they just didn't ask.

The conversation faded after that, none of them too eager to make small talk while Gil was in surgery. Each of them pretended to read a magazine for a while, but it was clear that none of them were actually doing anything more than looking at the pictures at most. Malcolm was too scared to leave the waiting room to change, fearing that they would get news on Gil the moment he left. He needed to call his mother and Ainsley, but he was too scared to do that too. He would do it after he found out Gil's status. But, several cups of coffee and forced smiles upon awkward eye contact later, a doctor finally appeared, asking for the family of Gil Arroyo.

"That's us," Malcolm immediately responded as he raced to his feet. Dani and JT quickly followed him. The doctor gave them all a once over.

"You're all his family?" the man asked incredulously, eyebrows raised.

"I'm Detective Powell, and this is Detective Tarmel. Gil is our boss, and to us he is family," Dani replied. The doctor gave them another look.

"And you?" he asked, looking at Malcolm.

"His son," JT answered for him, resting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder in solidarity. That seemed to be good enough for the doctor, if his sigh and slight shrug were anything to go by, or he just didn't care enough to question it.

"Alright, well, your boss, father, he's gonna be okay," the doctor said. "Whoever kept him alive following the stabbing did an excellent job, I would love to speak with them, if-"

"No," Malcolm cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. That just wasn't going to happen. Not ever. Malcolm wasn't even sure that even he was ever going to speak to his father again - but in his heart, Malcolm knew that was a lie, because somehow, someway, he always ended up back under his father's talons, no matter how hard he tried to escape.

The doctor looked at him strangely, but continued. "Anyway, Lieutenant Arroyo is going to be just fine. However, only immediate family is permitted to visit at this time." He looked at Malcolm expectantly, since JT had called him Gil's son. Malcolm, of course, wanted to go immediately to Gil, but he looked back at Dani and JT, just to make sure it was okay.

"Go ahead, bro," JT said with a nod and a wave of his hand. "But I'd change before he sees you."

Dani nodded in agreement, giving him another smile that helped to calm Malcolm's racing heart.

"That's a good idea," he replied, taking stock of the bit of blood on his pajamas.

"There's a restroom you can change in right outside your dad's room," the doctor said, then motioned for Malcolm to follow him.

"I'll update you guys, I promise," Malcolm said before following the man. The doctor lead him up two flights and down a long hall. He motioned to Gil's room on one side, and the restroom opposite it.

"Press the nurse call button if you need anything," he said before walking away.

After making sure it was unoccupied, Malcolm entered the restroom and locked it behind him. Hesitantly, he approached the mirror. This was the first time he got a look at himself all day, and it was not a great sight. His hair, although smoothed down, was tangled and messy, hanging in front of his eyes, which were still slightly bloodshot. The tearstains on his face had faded, but weren't completely gone, although the blood from the head wound had been washed away. Malcolm still couldn't believe that his father had done that, had hit him three times, one of those times with the butt of a dagger, hard enough to draw blood. He shook his head and closed his eyes a moment. There was no use dwelling on it.

Malcolm quickly changed into the clothes that Dani had brought him, and although they were barely a step above his pajamas in terms of how professional they were, he felt infinitely better in them. Malcolm got his hands wet and put forward his best effort in fixing his hair, just to make himself look a little bit better. He even brushed his teeth, since Dani had gone to the trouble of bringing him his toothbrush.

It was time to see Gil, but now that Malcolm was there, right in front of the door, he was scared. What would Gil think of him? This was all his fault, what if Gil blamed him forever and never wanted to speak to him again? Malcolm didn't know if he could survive that. But, no matter what, Malcolm needed to see Gil, and Gil deserved to see him, to have the chance to yell and scream at him for this. After taking another deep breath, Malcolm finally pushed the door open, and walked into Gil's room, closing the door behind him.

Gil was the room's only inhabitant, Malcolm noticed as he dropped the bag containing his dirty clothes on one of the chairs. He was glad that no one else was there to witness the pain, either his or Gil's. Slowly, Malcolm approached Gil, glad to see that he didn't even have an oxygen cannula, that he was breathing completely by himself. If it weren't for the hospital gown, IV, and the beeping machines, Malcolm would've thought that Gil was fine, not injured at all. He was only slightly pale, and his face wasn't pinched with pain. All in all, he didn't look too bad.

Malcolm eased himself down into the chair right next to the head of the bed. He gently took one of Gil's hands - the one not attached to the IV - in his own, and felt the pulse in it, steady and strong. Gil really was going to be okay. Despite himself, Malcolm couldn't stop himself from crying again, the emotional exhaustion of the past few hours getting the better of him. He let his head fall down onto Gil's arm.

"I'm so sorry this happened," he muttered, squeezing Gil's hand just a little bit tighter. "I'm so sorry."

For the next several minutes, Malcolm sat there, holding Gil's hand and resting his head on the man's arm as he softly cried, the constant low drones of the machines almost enough to put him to sleep.

"Hey, what are those tears for?"

Malcolm shot up at Gil's voice, finding the man awake, a sad smile upon his face. Gil continued before he could say anything.

"I'm okay," Gil muttered, although Malcolm noticed him pressing the morphine button out of the corner of his eye. "Everything is okay, I'm right here."

"I'm so sorry, I never should've let this happen, Gil, I'm so sorry-"

"Hey, kiddo, stop," Gil said, his voice tired, but earnest. "You have nothing to apologize for. Get up here." Gil motioned down with his head at the space next to him on the bed. Malcolm looked between Gil and the empty space for a moment. "You heard me, kid. Get up here."

"Are you sure?" Malcolm asked. He had to. No matter how badly he wanted for Gil to hold him and assure him that it really was all going to be okay, he couldn't do that. Gil had been stabbed and through surgery, he was the one in the hospital bed. Malcolm shouldn't be asking for anything, especially not that.

"Of course I'm sure," Gil insisted with a squeeze of Malcolm's hand. Malcolm hadn't even noticed that their hand positions had reversed.

Hesitantly, Malcolm climbed up onto the bed, and snuggled in right next to Gil, his head on the man's shoulder, Gil's arm around him, holding him close. The stab wound and the IV were both on the other side, so there wasn't a chance of hitting either. Once Malcolm was finally there, with Gil, alive and well-enough, holding him, he allowed himself to break down a little more. He clutched onto Gil's hospital gown with everything he had.

"I'm so sorry this happened," he repeated, his eyes welling with tears once again, but Gil gently shushed him.

"Stop apologizing," he said. "None of this is your fault." Malcolm disagreed, but he didn't have the words to explain why, so he remained silent. A minute later, Gil continued. "Don't ever do that again," he said.

Malcolm's breath hitched and he curled in on himself as much as he could. So Gil did blame him after all.

"You can't ever agree to something like that ever again, especially not for me," Gil continued. Wait, maybe he wasn't talking about it being Malcolm's fault. "You just can't," he said, his voice breaking. Malcolm looked up at him from his position on his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, nearly breathless.

"Agreeing to go with that monster, to not try to escape, to do whatever he said, Malcolm, you just can't-" he broke off, the machines beeping a little bit faster. Gil took a deep breath, then continued. "I am not worth that, kid. I'm not worth you suffering for the rest of your life, I'm just not. You can't ever agree to something like that ever again."

"Yes you are," Malcolm immediately replied. "You're the one who's been my dad for twenty years, of course you're worth it." How could Gil even think otherwise? "I'm the one who always messes up and makes everything worse, so of course you're worth it."

"Don't even say that. Don't ever say that you aren't worth as much," Gil said, turning his head towards Malcolm and holding him tighter. Malcolm couldn't help but relax further into Gil's arms. He continued in a low voice, almost a whisper. "I am your dad, and that's exactly why I am the one who dies for you, not the other way around. You are worth everything to me. Of course I will die if that's what it takes for you to live. Of course."

"I can't let you die."

"And you think I can? Kid, your death would kill me," Gil said. "I could never come back from that. You know that. We've had this conversation before. I cannot let you die. Don't force me to."

"But you can't either," Malcolm insisted, holding impossibly tighter onto Gil, as if the man would wither away if he let go.

"I know, it's okay, it's alright," Gil replied, gently rubbing his hand up and down Malcolm's arm, calming his breathing before Malcolm even realized it had been picking up. "I'm right here, everything is okay. We're alright. We're okay."

Malcolm forced himself to relax, to go nearly limp in Gil's arms. He couldn't afford to get worked up, because if he did, then Gil would, and the machines would alert them both that Gil wasn't supposed to be getting worked up. Luckily, it was just as easy to relax in Gil's arms now as it was two decades earlier. Gil just had that calming quality about him that was everything to Malcolm. He snuggled further down, letting himself be safe in Gil's arms.

"We're okay," Gil repeated in a whisper. He reached over and kissed Malcolm's forehead, holding his kid snug against him. Within the minute, both were fast asleep, the exhaustion of the past few hours catching up with both of them.

Yeah, they were okay.


End file.
